there's no other way when it comes to the truth I took Salsa to the vet this week and she got to undergo a group of tests called "Feline Geriatric Profile". Since she's approaching 13 years of age, she's considered pretty old for her kind. I took her in mainly for a dental exam because she's got some issues, but the vet said other than the two teeth needing extractions, the rest look good for her age. Poor Salsa, though, she had to get poked and prodded and needled, and wasn't even allowed to eat breakfast (!) before going. This morning I got to hear the results of her bloodwork. My baby is showing the early signs of kidney disease. I've been doing some reading and thinking and trying to absorb that information. Is it always the case that just when you realize how much you count on something to be there is when you'll have to face losing it..?

Speaking of the morbid, last month I had a dream that I died. I was wandering around the places I usually would and kinda just realized that I was dead. I tried talking to people, calling my family, but the only one who could hear me was Devin. As I stood there panicking and trying to figure out how I would get out of the situation, I realized that I had no way out. Devin sat there looking grim, not wanting to confirm it for me, until I asked if there was already a funeral scheduled. Yes, he said. And I knew I had no choice but to accept it.

Now that dream kinda freaked me out.  | ¶ 10:22 p.m.

  it's unforgettable now that we've come this far It was a roadtrip weekend for me. Devin and I headed south and spent a night in Kingston, Canada's first capital city. The weather was rainy and cold yesterday, then grey today, but it was still an enjoyable journey. I was surprised how much I liked the city of Kingston. It's smaller than I expected, and felt comfortably manageable because of that. Some photos are here.

We seemed to luck out on restaurants and bars - last night the lady at the front desk of the hotel recommended a lovely place just across the street (which was great since we were walking and it was raining lots) called Wooden Heads. They had fabulous wine, delicious tapas (chicken skewers with spicy and peanut Thai sauces), and impressive gourmet pizza (what makes a pizza "gourmet"?).

After dinner we wandered down the street and selected a random pub that suited us perfectly. It was the Merchant Taphouse, a mid-sized pub with a relaxed atmosphere. The band that played was very talented, taking requests and having fun improvising throughout each of the songs. At one point they segued into "Hell's Bells" after the section of American Pie that goes "the church bells all were broken". It was actually pretty funny. The pub was filling up with student-y types by this point - Queen's kids, maybe..?

A visit to Kingston is of course an opportunity to visit some historical sites. Throughout the downtown area there are very cool, very old limestone buildings, and miscellaneous museums and monuments. Given the short duration of the visit, though, we didn't explore too extensively, other than a bit of strolling and shopping on Princess Street, and a visit to the Cataraqui Cemetery to see the burial site of Sir John A. Macdonald.

I don't know if it's morbid, but I find cemeteries kind of fascinating these days. They just seem so filled with history and the personal stories of many people - I wander around reading names and dates and whatever else people have included on their grave markers and it intrigues me.

I'm going to have to re-visit Kingston in the nicer months. Seems like it could be quite beautiful seeing it when it warms up more, when Lake Ontario isn't frozen over, and when it isn't raining...  | ¶ 7:28 p.m.

  guess I could have made it easier on myself I read an interesting article (here) in Maclean's magazine recently about how parents with the intention of protecting their children can actually stifle them and prevent them from having valuable learning experiences. It is an interview with Michael Ungar, a social worker who has written a novel about what he calls "bubble-wrapped kids". An excerpt:

In your book you talk about the phenomenon of the bubble-wrapped kid. What's a bubble-wrapped kid?

I'm talking about kids who are being denied opportunities to experience risk and responsibility. I began to notice in my practice a group of young people who were coming from quite stable, nurturing, middle-class homes, and they were showing up for one of two reasons -- either they were very compliant young people with depression and anxiety and an incapacity to take on responsibility or to show much common sense in getting on with their lives, or they were coming in with very dangerous, risk-taking behaviours that they had come up with on their own to cope with what they were telling me were very restrictive or overprotective environments at home.

Why do some kids become docile and depressed when they're not exposed to risk?

They don't develop the self-confidence to control their world. They tend to slip away, they do a lot more screen time. I think the solution to getting a kid back out there is to start with the parents themselves. You know, it's always a source of great insight to ask parents, "What were you doing in terms of risk and responsibility and adventure-seeking behaviours when you were whatever age? And what did you learn?" I was driving mopeds on the streets when I was 14. I learned how to control that kind of speed and that kind of engine.

Hmmm. When I was 14...? I don't think I was the risk-taking type. Unless you count this:
  | ¶ 11:17 p.m.

  more love, I know that's all we need
"I haven't seen land in a few months and now that I see it it's in mainland Nigeria, smoke and burning fires..."

That's what my friend Art said today. He works as a commercial diver, doing work on oil rigs in various oceans. I've chatted with him while he's been off the coast of Mexico, China, the Congo, and now Nigeria. Crazy life. This video gives a glimpse of the gear he has to wear. Nifty!

[Edit: doh! somebody removed the video...]  | ¶ 3:14 p.m.

  I'm all dressed up for Prague Okay, I had bookmarked this page ages ago to comment on but never got around to it. An excerpt:

There are no recent studies of the employment patterns of Generations X and Y by the Bureau of Labor Statistics. But it reports that even those born at the tail end of the baby boom held an average of 10.2 jobs between age 18 and 38, from 1978 to 2002. A 2004 study by the Families and Work Institute, a nonprofit research group, polled Generation Y employees and found they were significantly more likely to leave their job than employees who were their comparable ages in 1977 — 70 percent, compared with 52 percent.

The trend, career experts said, is an outgrowth of today's nomadic job culture, as well as an attitude among many young people open to adventure and big experiences — and, yes, a bit of indulgence.

"Normal life," Mr. Aikin said, "maintaining relationships with people who don't live nearby, requires at least two weeks of your life a year."

I suppose it's not "normal life" that I've been after when I quit jobs. Recently I've wondered why I'm not like other people who, above all else, want to find job security and settle in to a place for years at a time. I get so restless that my instinct is practically always "change this NOW". But I look back at the jobs I've left and see practically everybody still THERE. Lots of them were my co-sufferers - we complained together, vented together, vowed that we wouldn't take it. And boom, it's me who ran out to find I would not only be driving the getaway car, I would be its only passenger. And off into the sunset I go...?

I have always moved. Starting at the age of 12, that I can remember. Five house moves before I graduated high school. And six school changes. Sheesh, you'd think I was in a military family or something. Discontent with the status quo was always the motivating factor. It's amazing that I lasted as long as I did the first go at Bishop's. I think that was more because as an "adult", I had no idea what I would do with myself. I was pretty impressed with myself when I lasted three years at my first real job in Calgary. But that was probably because even within the same company, I had one job change, a supervisor change, and probably ten office moves (we were a growing company). I have always moved.

I don't even like to own heavy furniture because it's not portable enough. After seven months in Ottawa, I still have a rough escape plan plotted out in my head. The question is, to where..? I suspect the grass isn't greener anywhere else. We get plenty of rain here.  | ¶ 11:58 p.m.

  you can fly away, you can change your name
Lesson 7: Don't tell anyone

That's one of Jared's tips when you are making changes in your life. I picked up his book at Chapter's recently and read a few chapters about his life and how, from an early age, he just loved food more than the average kid. And how he struggled privately to design his own diet that tasted good and worked (enter Subway).

I've been doing some training lately (of the running variety) and had half-thought I might take part in a 5K race yesterday, so it was kind of a bummer to have the snowstorm blow in this weekend. I'm a little paranoid about running in the winter, so this blast of winter means that when my alarm went off and I heard talk on the radio of digging out shovels and police advising people to stay off the roads, I opted to sleep in. I suspect the race took place anyway, but maybe with reduced participants.

It has been quite nice lately, though, to run outside since it was beginning to feel like spring and the sidewalks were pretty clear, if not dotted with random puddles of varying depths. It's been a refreshing change from the monotony of treadmill running. Alas, today I was back downstairs, doing the weekend long run on the machine. Spring will be back soon..!
So I've been scanning the Running Room website for other upcoming races that I might try. I've got a few scoped out, but I'm not committing to anything yet. Jared said not to tell you.  | ¶ 11:28 p.m.

  relax, there is an answer to the darkest times
To celebrate St. Patrick's Day, Mother Nature has decided to remind us what winter looks like. Here in Ottawa it's probably not as bad as some other Eastern regions, but we're getting a good white coat over everything. Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody.  | ¶ 12:31 p.m.

  you only want what everybody else says you should want Mika is my new guilty pleasure. His pop music is quirky and different, and at first I didn't know if I would hate it or love it, but it's quickly becoming a new favourite. This is his recent single called "Grace Kelly".

  | ¶ 11:55 p.m.

  if I pretend that nothing ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep Wow, this is sad. The New York Times does a piece on the cognitive decline seen in some NFL players as they get older, and the fight by their wives to get the NFL to do something about it, because currently they do not recognize dementia as qualifying for disability benefits. Yeesh.

Mr. Mackey is a sturdy 6-foot-3 and 240 pounds underneath his trademark black cowboy hat. He’s convivial with fans who remember him, but soon into any interaction quickly demonstrates his mental decline. During lunch on Friday, he used a spoon to drink his coffee, thinking it was soup, and uttered non sequiturs to almost any question, including several repetitions of “I want a cookie” and “I got in the end zone.”

His most prized possessions are two rings, which he repeatedly proffered on his fists. “I got this one for winning Super Bowl V, and this one when they put me in the Hall of Fame,” he said several times. The rings are so precious to him that last year, when airport security screeners asked him to remove them, he grew enraged, ran toward the gate and had to be wrestled to the ground, screaming, by armed officials.

“I was afraid they might shoot him dead,” Sylvia Mackey said. She no longer lets him fly; when the two traveled from Baltimore to Miami for this year’s Super Bowl, they rode Amtrak for 28 hours.

Full story is here.  | ¶ 1:41 p.m.

  would you mind if I pretended I was someone else The other night I was doing laundry late. My building has good laundry facilities and the room is open 24 hours - a bonus in the land of apartment-living. So it was around midnight when my clothes were in the dryer. As I headed down shortly after midnight to retrieve my stuff, I noticed that the "Smart City" laundry card was not in its proper place by the door. It's not like me to be forgetful about things like this (at least, it didn't used to be - after my recent locking-keys-in-car episode, maybe things are changing), so I assumed that it was in my pocket there was some reasonable explanation for its absence. Alas, it wasn't in the laundry room, it wasn't in any pockets, nor on any floors, nor in the stairwell on the way to the laundry room. I even got down on my knees and peered under the dryer, wondering if it had fallen between the machines somehow. I could not for the life of me remember what I had done with it once the dryer was started. Which means I probably left it in the dryer slot and somebody took it.

Call me naïve but I don't assume that people see somebody's obviously forgotten laundry card in their dryer and decide to STEAL it. I refuse to believe that everybody is so mean and devious. But I have resigned myself to that possibility, 'cause there simply isn't another explanation. If I hadn't been so tired and foggy-headed I might have stuck around and confronted the next person who came down to fetch their own clothes. Boo on me for forgetting it, but bigger BOO on them for being thieving BITCHES!  | ¶ 3:15 p.m.

  you twinkle above us, we twinkle below So I'm fighting my way through the Dief paper. It was actually due today but I'm going to be a bit late handing it in (what else is new, eh). After my early ambitious researching back in January, my work ethic got a little slack, so I've been getting re-acquainted with Dief these past few days. The research question is primarily, "does Dief deserve the harsh criticism he's gotten?" And without having read altogether very much, I decided to play a sympathetic part in my review of his prime ministership. Because, after all, Dief was an early champion of individual rights and helped create the predecessor document to the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. And to hear George Grant tell it in Lament for a Nation, Dief was the last defender of Canadian sovereignty. Dief is well-known for disagreeing with JFK on the role of Canada within NORAD, and probably reacted childishly when he wasn't consulted on issues during the Cold War, but in a way you could interpret that as defending the right of Canadians to make defense decisions for ourselves.

Some recent literature on Dief reports that, rather than through his own missteps, Dief found himself in an unlucky time in Canadian history where he was forced to deal with issues of importance, and definitely pissed off a few of the wrong people. But who's to say that he was wrong, precisely.

I was amused to read that his state funeral, conducted according to his wishes, was one of the most expensive in Canadian history. I found this funny after reading about his general frugality while in office: "For a week-long state visit to Mexico, he submitted a personal bill of $102.04; following a four-day sojourn in Washington he turned in a voucher for $5.68."  | ¶ 11:58 p.m.

  everything's just wonderful, I'm having the time of my life The kitten discovers water. Too cute. Get it, Shiny!

  | ¶ 9:27 p.m.

  we never knew what normal was I've written about this before, but I find myself faced by this grammatical phenomenon so consistently that I have to vent a bit more. What is with people thinking that if a word ends in a vowel, then the pluralized form must have an apostrophe?!

My ex-boss used to do that: "agenda's" was his big one. Today I ran into it on the website of an apparently upscale restaurant here in Ottawa: they would like to serve you some martini's, not martinis. People, this drives me bananas!  | ¶ 2:14 p.m.

  you don't even know the meaning of the words I'm sorry Apparently these people don't know about the phenomenon called "students-run-out-of-money-in-March-and-need-their-refunds".

The electronic filing system has been out of service since the Canada Revenue Agency detected "some irregularities" in its tax-return databases on Monday.

Monday was the day I got the last of my receipts from Calgary. I blame the eclipse for this mess!

The job search is in effect, with frantic urgency. Um, yeah, how do you feel about pay advances for new employees? Jebus.  | ¶ 2:52 p.m.

  can you see them - out on the porch, but they don't wave For my Canadian Public Policy class, I have to hand in a case study analysis of a Canadian policy area. I have selected the issue of same-sex marriage, but I keep questioning my choice. Because here's the thing: "policy" is defined as anything the government decides to do or not do. The matter of re-defining marriage (or rather, defining it in the first place, since it was never spelled out in law before the Civil Marriage Act came into force) wasn't something any government set out to address as a policy area. That is, until a Supreme Court ruling forced them to write laws ensuring equal treatment for all couples with respect to the institution of marriage.

So the federal government established a committee and had debates and all that, but in reality their path wasn't left very open for interpretation. The Supreme Court said they had to do something that fell within the limitations of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms (which protects individuals). All they had to do was write the law. So I'm kinda confused firstly about why they got the opportunity to vote on it, except as some kind of formality. And secondly, I'm wondering, is this really even a "policy" area? I sure hope so, 'cause I don't really have a backup plan.

Here's my draft outline, if you're interested. The actual analysis isn't due until March 27th.  | ¶ 11:25 p.m.

  my legs are strong and I'll move on Do you ever have that dream where you wake up and try to move and realize that you can't? So you thrash around, desperate and violent in your attempt to wiggle a finger or even speak? And you get a little freaked out? Sometimes because you feel your face in the pillow and have trouble breathing?

I know not everybody gets these things, 'cause I've asked around, but froo and I both do. It's trippy and disturbing, but the only way out of it is to relax and let yourself fall back "asleep". You cannot actually shake yourself awake while you're in this sleep paralysis, at least I never have. The funny thing is that even though it's pretty disturbing, I often forget that it happened once I wake up for real until something triggers a memory for me. And then that feeling of helplessness comes back to me.

Recently I was napping when I had a dream I was talking to David Letterman. But then he had to go 'cause he was doing some scuba diving (he had all the gear on). A minute later I realized I was losing consciousness and I realized that I, too, was wearing the mask and gear. As I started to panic about not being able to breathe, I reminded myself to breathe calmly and normally. I managed to regulate my breathing and somehow successfully woke myself up from this dream.  | ¶ 10:08 p.m.

  I've got nothing left to fill the spaces When we got to Cancun we were still both pretty tired after all the craziness of the voyage. froo was also still on Mountain time, so I usually found myself awake before she stirred. There were a couple days that I ended up grabbing a light breakfast and trekking down to the beach to take in the endless horizon view of ocean. The way the resort is set up consists of various scattered buildings on the grounds, and although we were right off the lobby and pretty close to the main buffet restaurant, we were pretty far from the ocean. Which was fine, anyway, since it wasn't a sandy beach, and we liked the pool just fine.

The locals talk about how much the coastline has changed since the bad hurricanes of the past few years - somebody told us the beach at the resort used to be much nicer, much beach-ier. Now it's majestic and beautiful, but mostly rocky, so you are advised not to swim there. They have constructed a pool that feeds from the ocean water, but I never swam in it. The only ocean swimming we did on the trip was that chilly day on the catamaran. I remember being surprised at the salty taste on my lips.

These video clips never quite capture the feel, nor the power of the waves (yet somehow manage to pick up non-stop wind - argh), but here is a sample anyway.

  | ¶ 9:25 p.m.